Five Times Foggy Defended Matt
by Gandalf3213
Summary: ...and one time Matt returned the favor. Ever since they were in college, Foggy has felt protective of his new friend. Cue lots of old-fashioned bromance .
1. The First Time

**_Foggy Nelson_** : You're blind, right?  
 ** _Matt Murdock_** : Uh, yeah, so they tell me. I hope that won't be a problem.  
 ** _Foggy Nelson_** : Why would it? Oh! You're my roomie!  
 _.***._

Foggy had never been what you'd call popular. Or what anyone would call popular. He wasn't even a proper loser in high school-a loser might have gotten some cool computer skills. No, Foggy went on a lot of dates with library books and was the type of kid who didn't mind spending a night in with his parents watching reruns of _Sanford and Sons_. Because he knew that when he got to college all of that would change. He would be popular.

And then he got to college and realized that he still wasn't popular, but no one was really popular. College was bigger than that. And, if he wasn't strictly popular, then Foggy had somehow become cool in the summer between Senior year of high school and Freshman year of college. Cool was good enough. Cool got you dates.

"So give it to me straight," he said to one girl over a bowl of ice cream they'd been sharing. It was a good date. He'd made her laugh and she was a pretty red head with some meet on her bones and bright eyes. Plus, she'd shared his pizza, laughed at his lousy mini-gold game, and insisted on ice cream. He was going to marry her any day now. Fiona. That was her name, that first college date in the September of his Freshman year. Fiona with the easy laugh.

Anyway, they were eating ice cream and Foggy was just bursting to know, just dying. "What made you go out with me? You could have gotten anyone in the class."

Their class was three hundred people large. Intro to Ethics. There were at least ten guys in there better-looking than Foggy (not that he was looking. Mostly he was looking at the girls. Mostly.) So he was just curious, and told Fiona so.

"Honestly? I wasn't going to. I mean, don't get me wrong," Fiona giggled, throwing her straw wrapper at me. "I'm glad I did. I'm having fun. But you were kind of nerdy and awkward. You got gum in my hair."

"Again, sorry about that."

"But then you were getting off the bleachers and there was that blind kid who got whacked with that backpack, remember? And you were so nice and you helped him off the bleachers and made sure he was okay and you took him outside and I kind of followed you and you got some napkins out of your bag and stopped the bleeding." Fiona smiled, and damn it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "You didn't have to do that."

Foggy puffed out his chest and swiped some of his loose hair behind his ears. "Well, what can I say? I'm a nice guy."

Fiona nodded, her eyes going wide. "A really nice guy." She took a big bite of ice cream and some chocolate got on her lip and Foggy wiped it off. They were already adorable. Fiona nipped playfully at his finger. "You didn't have to help that blind kid. I mean, it's not like he's going to actually become a lawyer like the rest of us. But you've got a big heart. I can tell."

If only she hadn't said that, Foggy might be married to easy-going Fiona right now. But he was in his first month of school and he already knew the rules: if you have a good roommate, don't let anyone make fun of them. Or maybe that was one of Foggy's rules. One of the many rules he was already making up in regards to Matt. "That blind kid is my roommate."

Her big bright eyes went wide. "Oh! I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make fun of him, Foggy. I just mean, you know. He's blind. Some of these books aren't even in Braille. I checked." She tried doing damage control. "I'm sure he's a nice guy. He sure would be cute if he took off those glasses-but not as cute as you! There's just some things that people with disabilities can't do."

Foggy was standing up, trying to be smooth but he tipped over his chair on the way. "I'm sorry," he said, "Really, you seem like a nice enough girl."

"I said I was sorry," Fiona retorted. She sure went from apologetic to mad pretty fast. "How was I supposed to know he was your roommate?"

Closing his eyes, Foggy debated with himself for a second. Was now really the time to debate with a girl about right and wrong? A girl who, up until bare minutes before, he was really falling for? But, if he was going to be a lawyer, he was going to have to star arguing sometime. "First, even if he wasn't my roommate it would be a shitty thing to say because you don't know _that blind guy_ whose name happens to be Matt. Second, Matt happens to be the single most intelligent person I've ever met in real life. Like, he blows me out of the water, and he keeps up with the work, and he'll be a great lawyer some day. So don't tell me about his disabilities because Matt sure as hell isn't letting his blindness keep him back. And third," Foggy was taking in great heaving breaths. He and Matt weren't friends at this point. Foggy liked his roommate more than enough, but Matt was kind of quiet and didn't seem interested in friendship, which was fine. It didn't stop Foggy from feeling protective, even though he'd die before letting Matt know about this particular diatribe. "Third, you should know that I really liked you, and I think you're beautiful, and thank you for a good night but I don't think we should see enough other again."

Fiona was a nice girl, but she'd been dumped pretty quickly so you'll have to forgive her for her outburst. "Well, I hope you and your little boyfriend Matt are very happy together."

Not wanting to grace that with an answer, Foggy just nodded, and left.

.***.


	2. The Second Time

_**Foggy Nelson:** That's not a client, it's a shark in a skin suit._  
 _.***._

They were at a party because Foggy thought that they should go. Networking was important, and socializing with people beyond old librarians and Starbucks barristas was important, but most important of all was the fact that Foggy really, really wanted to have sex.

So they walked across campus, Matt with one hand ghosting around Foggy's elbow because he didn't want to bring his cane. It was late Fall and starting to get cold but they'd both agreed that coats would just get lost at a big party like this. So Foggy wore jeans and a t-shirt and Matt wore slacks and a belt and a collared shirt and, okay, Foggy stared at him a little too long as he was getting dressed. They hadn't had long heart-to-hearts about previous relationships. If they had, Foggy would have told Matt about the two quiet girls and one smiling boy he'd dated in high school. But because Matt didn't ask, and because Foggy kind of wanted a cute little girl to take out to dinner, he didn't volunteer the information.

You see, he and Matt were starting to become friends. They had almost every class together (except Matt's Spanish course and Foggy's Punjabi) so they studied side by side and looked over each other's homework and, of course, slept in the same room. They listened to music a lot. Matt liked music, preferred unwinding to the radio that watching a droning boob tune (for pretty obvious reasons) so they listened to symphonies together. And talked, because symphonies got boring. And, night by night, they'd built their friendship.

Foggy wouldn't give that up for the world, and Matt was super Catholic. So, so Catholic. So he wasn't going to bring up the whole oh-yeah-I-sometimes-sleep-with-boys-too thing until absolutely necessary. Why make things weird? Why lose the only friend he had?

That was the very long version of why Foggy needed to have sex. Not that he was seriously thinking about starting things up with his roommate because 1. Catholic and 2. Friendship and 3. Matt dated hot, female models and Foggy was not one of those things. But it was hard to be around Matt day after day and not want to get laid.

"Okay, I'm going to go get us drinks," Foggy said, leading Matt over to a quiet-ish corner of the house. The party had more people than he was expecting, and some of them were definitely not law students. "If we lose each other, just meet back here in like an hour."

Matt said something, and Foggy had to lean forward and tell him to repeat it. There was so much noise. "I said, I might go outside if it gets too loud." Matt took off his glasses to clean them with the end of his shirt, which must have been a nervous tick because why would he care if they were dirty? Anyway, in that moment Foggy could see his filmy eyes darting around the room, as if searching for a way out.

"I'll find you," Foggy promised. "Anyway, I'll be right back."

Of course, he wasn't right back. He was distracted by a pair of Poly Sci majors, both with their belly buttons showing, who convinced him to take three shots of something clear and burning before he begged off, told them they should go somewhere quieter. One, the willowy brunette, suddenly lost interest. But the curvy blonde followed him, laughing, telling him about mass migrations and African culture. He didn't listen to a word but he liked the way her mouth moved.

"Are you looking for someone?"

She didn't sound annoyed, but the question got through to him and Foggy stared at the girl. He never got her name, just knew her as "that blonde." "Yeah, I left my friend here."

"Your friend can wait." The girl just about purred. Apparently she was horny, too. And, as if her intent couldn't be more obvious, she pressed Foggy against a wall, kissing him.

It was nice. It was fireworks. Foggy hadn't kissed anyone in months and so responded enthusiastically. This making out against a wall in full view of everyone went on longer than Foggy would like to admit. Then the girl started tugging at Foggy's shirt and he managed to form a coherent sentence. "Not here, let's go find a room."

"You're so romantic."

"Nah, just easily embarrassed."

They stumbled, laughing, up the stairs. The girl had produced a condom from nowhere and was ripping it open with her teeth. Foggy was thanking whatever deity there was for his good fortune. And that's when he heard the first moan.

The girl found a bathroom and was tugging him in when Foggy called out, louder than he meant to. "Matt?"

Another moan. A groan.

"Where are you going?" The girl asked. "Come on, I really, really want to have sex."

 _You and me both_ , Foggy thought, but he couldn't get the lump out of his throat, the surge of adrenaline that told him that Matt was not all right. "Matt?" He called again, trying not to sound frantic.

There, down the hall, another moan cut off suddenly by the soft thud of flesh hitting flesh and a hissed order to _shut up, bitch._

Foggy rarely thanked the deity for his girth, but tonight was one of those grateful nights because he was _mad as a bull_ and _if someone was hurting Matt..._ He, Foggy, was big and could crush enemies like so many bugs. So he was grateful for his girth, because he didn't give a second thought about rushing to the defense.

He opened door after door, running down the hallway. Where was Matt? There was bedroom, closet, bedroom, bathroom, and then, there at the end, opening door number seven and there was Matt, on the bed.

There were three other people in the room, two guys and a girl near the door who was probably supposed to be keeping look-out but was not going her job very well. Foggy wasn't concerned with her. He was concerned with the guy who was ripping Matt's pants open and kissing his nipples. He was worried about the guy who was shoving his dick down Matt's throat.

The roar Foggy gave then was not a human sound, it was primal, from the depths of the sea, from the vast misty swamps. He was more beast than man when he wrenched the guy off of man and swung at him, punching hard from the shoulder like playground fights had taught him, right into the guy's chin. Pain blossomed through his hand but Foggy didn't care, didn't care at all, just needed this guy to crumple so that he could take care of the other one, the one who still had his dick out. Foggy tackled him, football style, shoving his knee into the guy's chest and swinging, swinging, until he knew the guy wouldn't be getting up.

There was still the girl. Foggy got up off the floor, eyes wildly looking for the door. And standing in the doorway was the blonde, the condom-wielding, face-kissing blonde, scratching the eyes out of the girl who was keeping watch. When she saw Foggy's head, the blonde barked out an order. "I've got these guys. You take care of your friend."

Friend? Matt. Oh god oh god Matt was hurt Matt was about to be raped, was being raped, was being threatened, was probably scared out of his mind and hurt and...

"Hey buddy," Foggy breathed, reaching out for Matt. He was near Matt's head, stood up so he could start buttoning his friend's shirt, but his hands were shaking bad. "Don't worry, I'm going to get you out of here. Shh, shh. It's okay. Matty, please. Please man, stop crying. It's okay."

Matt's eyes were dripping tears. His glasses were gone and it was just his face, raw and open. His mouth looked like someone had been forcing a dick in it, brutally.

Foggy fumbled in his pocket for his phone. Should he call 9-1-1 now or get Matt to a safe place first? Shouldn't he try to preserve evidence? Make sure the scene of the crime remained undisturbed?

He must have been talking out loud because Matt was shaking his head, feebly. "No. No, Foggy, please. No hospital. Please." His voice was absolutely wrecked, raspy and hoarse.

What was he to do? Crimes had to be reported, Foggy knew that, but hadn't enough people violated Matt's wishes for one night? Who was Foggy to say what Matt should and should not do with his own body? Especially now, when he was so, so broken.

So he just leaned his forehead against his friend's. "Okay, no hospital. For now. But you've got to stop crying, Matt, please. You're going to make yourself sick."

Matt reached up, fingers shaking, and put a palm against Foggy's face. "I'm not the one crying, Fog," Matt whispered. "You are."

 **.***.**

 **happy fall everyone! this will be a series, obviously. thanks to everyone for the beautiful reviews on our very first _Daredevil_ story! it feels us with words and good cheer, which turns into stories. **

**hope you all are spending the time with the people you love. we know we are.**

 **peace,**

 **us**


	3. The Third Time

_**Stick** : [to Matt] Big world, not all of it flowers and sunshine. And the only way guys like you and me can survive is to grab it by the throat and never let go._

 _.***._

It took Foggy several days to convince Matt to go to the hospital.

"Come on, Fog," Matt said the next morning, looking bruised and chagrined and damp after a shower. "How about I buy you breakfast instead?"

"And that sounds great," Foggy assured his friend, "Except that 1. You have no money. I'm broke, and you're destitute, so if anyone's buying the pancakes it would be me. Also, 2. I'll buy you pancakes after the ER because 3. You were raped last night and I am so not equipped with dealing with that."

Matt flushed. He didn't wear his glasses in the room, had gotten out of the habit, and so Foggy was one of the few people in the world, the only person on campus, who knew that Matt's whole face crumpled when he was upset. He had the worst poker face Foggy had ever seen, and it would be endearing if it wasn't so damn sad. "Can you just," Matt said, his voice bitten and bitter, "Can you just stop saying _raped?_ I'm not some Freshman girl."

"Sexist, man, you're a Freshman boy. And I don't want to make you into a victim, or anything—god knows I'm no knight in shining armor," Foggy gestured to himself, all of himself, "but let's call a spade a spade. Come on, it'll be a _fun_ trip to the ER."

"Oxymoron."

"Well, okay, but if you're a good boy I'll buy you pancakes after."

Foggy chatted the whole way down to the hospital, his voice getting higher and more nervous as they approached. "And the line's probably going to be really long because it's, you know, the ER, but we've got nowhere else to be."

"Yeah," Matt muttered, "good thing we're not law students or anything."

"Nowhere more important. And I'll be right next to you the whole time, unless you don't want me to, in which case I'll be barking at all the doctors outside. In close proximity, because that's non-negotiable."

Matt rolled his eyes. His heart was going double-time and he kept getting nervous all over when he remembered that he was going to the hospital, but wasn't it just a little bit nice to have Foggy with him, being so damn protective?

Not that Matt didn't know his friend loved him, it was just so nice and new to have someone love him without strings attached, without expectation or reservation. The night before, when he'd felt helpless and alone and _handicapped_ for the first time since before Stick, when he was pinned and assaulted, he'd thought that no one was going to save him, that he would just have to endure, that Foggy wouldn't care when and if he found out—or worse, that Foggy would find out, and would care and would blame him, Matt. That Foggy would find out and turn away.

And instead, Foggy had barged in like his very own avenging angel, his personal superhero. Foggy fought them off and then knelt over him and make sure, make quite sure he was alright. And he'd seen his friend _crying_ , over _him._

Matt knew he wasn't worth it, but he wanted to much to believe that he was.

Anyway, he was going to the hospital because Foggy wanted it so much. Having friends was alarming.

Matt filled out some paperwork, and Foggy commandeered some of the more comfortable chairs, the ones in front of the tv, and snapped at people until they were alone and he could flip to Saturday morning cartoons in peace.

"These better be damn good pancakes," Matt muttered, putting down the clipboard.

Foggy reached over and ruffled his hair, the gesture so familiar that Matt was glad he'd put his glasses back on. It must have been all the stuff that happened last night that was bringing this emotion out.

They waited together. Eventually Foggy got up to get coffee, and came back with a cup for Matt. When they were finally called back, and Matt got hooked up to a blood pressure machine, Foggy kept up a running commentary.

"Yeah, he's blind. Accident when he was a kid. This man—what's your name?—Deonde wants to put a blood pressure cuff on your left arm, Matty. Well, you can see it down there on the clipboard, assault. That's kind of a personal question, can I answer when we're in a more private place? No sir, not paranoid, just looking out for Matt here. Matt? Hey Matty, the cuff's coming off and we're going down this way, let me just grab your hand, it's not far."

Foggy somehow forgot to let go of his hand while they waited for the nurse. "D'you want to tell the doc what happened or should I?"

"You can, if you want to."

"It's whatever you want, man. You look like you're gonna pass out on me. Don't like hospitals?"

"Not really."

"That's okay. Hey, here's the doc. Doc, this is my friend Matty. He asked me to stick around if it's all the same to you."

"Sure," the doctor was a woman, plump and matronly and confident. "But just so you know, Mr," consulting the chart, "Murdoch, you will have to disrobe for some of the tests. For victims of assault, I know that can be uncomfortable."

Matt found his voice, which had been hiding someplace near his toes. "That's why I want Foggy to stay. I mean, it's not like I can see who's in the room anyway," Matt laughed a little, because if he didn't laugh he would sob.

Foggy's hand was back in his hair, rubbing lightly. The doctor had a clipboard of questions, and Foggy mostly zoned out.

"Are you sexually active?"

"Yeah. Fairly."

A couple questions later, Foggy was practically snoozing. Until he heard:

"Do you usually engage in anal sex?"

"Hey," Foggy snapped.

"Not usually," Matt answered, trying to disengage from the situation, numb himself to this. He used to be able to do that, with Stick, just turn his brain off, just lie back and think of England. "Um, when I was younger."

He could feel Foggy looking at his oddly, and that was all Matt could think about as the doc went through the rest of her questions, as she asked him to lay out on the table, as she put on gloves and poked and probed, as she asked him about how many, and if he wanted to prosecute, and could he turn just a little to his left?

After that, which was the worst, which left Matt shaking and Foggy patting him, petting him, nearly cooing at him in his mother-hen way, after that it was easy. Just a blood sample, and a print-out (given to Foggy) of what his options were after an assault, and some aspirin, a tetanus shot because of the scrapes on his face. He was turned loose on the world with a reminder to come back in three weeks for the results of his blood test. "But I wouldn't worry," the doc said on their way out, "it's just procedure. We did an in-house test for gonorrhea, chlamydia, the usual suspects. This just needs to be sent to a lab for HIV."

Matt gripped Foggy's arm, hard.

"But," Foggy's voice had held the edge of steel since they'd entered the hospital and people started moving Matt around, "he shouldn't worry?"

"The odds are in his favor." The doctor handed Foggy another stack of papers. "Also, Mr. Murdoch, I know that right now school seems more important than anything, but you need to take care of your health. Low iron, malnourishment, and yet from the sound of it you work out constantly. Make sure you take in as many calories as you put out. You can't afford to lose any more weight."

Luckily, he was on the school's insurance, and the bill wasn't extraordinary. As promised, Foggy took him out for pancakes and neither of them ate anything.

Finally, Matt couldn't take it anymore. "Just ask the question."

"Nah," Foggy said, "I'm going to tell you a story. It's called: Foggy and the date he took to Junior Prom. My date's name was Andrew, and he was in Mock Trial with me, wicked funny, very cute, gay as the 4th of July. And then there's seventeen-year-old Foggy, who was kind of chubby and kind of straight and kind of serious. But then he and Andrew started hanging out, and they'd go to football games together and watch movies and go swimming and eventually Foggy got up the courage to kiss Andrew, who kissed him right back, and they went to the Junior Prom together. My mom took the pictures in our living room. My dad drove us in his Jeep, and made vomiting noises when we kissed in the back seat." Foggy sipped the coffee. "That's a story about how I don't care if you're gay, Matty."

"Fog," Matt said, and his voice sounded wet. Then he took a sip of coffee and had a forkful of pancakes and tried again. "Fog," his voice was normal now. "I didn't—"

"Yeah," Foggy shrugged, "I'm shrugging, Matt. I didn't tell you because of, well,"

"The Catholic thing," Matt's voice was tinged red and angry.

"No. I didn't tell you because you're the only friend I've got." Foggy pushed all of his pancakes onto Matt's plate.

Matt turned his face down, like he was looking at the new pile, and started forking them into his mouth. "Well," he said, between mouthfuls, "Right back at you, Fog. Really. Right back at you."

.***.

"So," Foggy said later that night, back at their dorm. Mozart was on and they were studying, which consisted mostly of Foggy reading out loud and Matt getting most of the answers. "Not that I'm prying. Mostly it's avoiding studying. But, um, do you have a story?"

"Of my relationships with guys?"

"Yeah," Foggy was quick to say, "You don't have to tell me. I'm just—I thought you only dated girls."

Matt's whole body stilled. Foggy didn't even think he was breathing. "Can I," Matt lipped his lips. "Can I tell you later? Would that be okay?"

"That's fine. You don't have to—I don't care if you never tell me. I just thought I'd ask." Embarrassed, Foggy looked back down at the textbook. "Wanna learn about Mal Inprohibitum?"

"Wanna get out _Harry Potter?"_ They were working their way through the books, Foggy reading a chapter out loud every night. Matt, of course, hadn't read anything at the Home following the accident, and Stick didn't have anything as frivolous as fantasy. Foggy wasn't much for fiction, and the books had come out when he considered himself just too old for the phenomenon.

But he'd found a copy of the first book at the library, had found two and three at a book sale. And now they were on _Goblet of Fire_ , which Matt had brought home, sheepish, tossing it on Foggy's bed like he didn't care whether or not they read it, like their nightly ritual didn't make him feel like glowing from the inside out.

Foggy didn't hesitate, just put away the textbook and, with some rustling and groaning as he moved around, fished Harry Potter out the bedside drawer. "Okay," he said, "where were we?"

"After the World Cup."

"Right, Krum got the Snitch."

"And that ambassador dude, the Bulgarian Minister," Matt grinned, imitated the voices Foggy did when he read out loud. "'You can speak English!'—Poor Ludo Bagman—'And you've been letting me mime everything all day?'"

"'Well,'" Foggy finished, in his best worst Bulgarian accent, "'It was very funny.'"

He found the page after that, waited until Matt settled, back against the wall, legs hanging off over the edge of the bed, eyes closed, bruise stark and purple on the side of his face. "Chapter Nine," Foggy read. "The Dark Mark."

.***.

Foggy met that girl on campus, the one from the party.

"How's your friend?" she said, not getting very close to Foggy, scuffing her shoe in the dirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon. She wore a yellow dress. She didn't look like she could beat up anyone.

"Fine," Foggy said, not really wanting to talk.

"Yeah right," the girl said, "take care of him. Those guys are assholes."

.***.

It was night, and Foggy had just put _Harry Potter_ aside. (Chapter Seventeen, The Four Champions) He'd turned off the light. It was two weeks since the party, and finals were coming up fast. He hoped for sleep. He hoped that Matt wouldn't have nightmares again.

"Hey, Fog."

"Yeah?"

"Still want to know about, um, my thing? My story?"

It took Foggy a little while to realize that Matt had said. "Sure. I mean, yeah. Want the light?" He sat up and reached for the switch before Matt's throaty laughter stopped him. "Right, 'course, I'll just. Yeah." He sat there in the dark, looking at the dark form that was Matt.

Matt never really looked at Fog, but right now he was definitely, deliberately looking away. "Well. Okay. So, you know that my Dad died?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And you know how I was sent to the home?"

"Yeah."

"And you know how I was adopted? Cuz I was, got taken out of the system by this guy named—don't laugh—his name was Stick, and he saved me, or whatever, when I was just this angsty blind kid no one had any business liking. He showed me how to cope with my disability—how to embrace it. He taught me how to," Matt snorted, "defend myself. How to use a gun, do close-combat stuff like tai kwon do, jujitsu, karate, some MMA. And boxing, of course, but my dad made me promise not to box so I wasn't great at it."

Foggy let out a low whistle. "Did he pack you off to learn from a monk in Asia? Put you down in a cave full of bats so you could face your fears?"

"Batman is a great hero."

"Batman's a coward and a murderer and vigilante, but we'll go into politics later." Foggy raised an eyebrow at Matt. "Didn't know you were on the side of the supers, man. You like the Avengers, too?"

"Why not? Iron Man saved New York."

"After destroying half the city," Foggy's voice had a snap to it now, "I had friends who died in that battle."

"I did too, Fog; everyone did. But it wasn't Iron Man's fault. Also, Captain America is kind of a babe."

Foggy blanched, happy that Matt couldn't see. Of course that would be Matt's type, all-American and star-spangled and perfect down to the eight-pack abs. "I hear he's taken," Foggy said, as causally as he could.

Matt snorted. "That won't last. The Winter Soldier's doesn't seem to play well with others."

"He was a Howling Commando."

" _Was_ being the operative word."

"Everything's so black and white in your little world, isn't it?" Foggy shook his head. Most people who were in law had a very stark sense of right and wrong; Foggy was among the few who could even glimpse the shades of grey.

Matt smirked at him, a half-smile that he hadn't showed since before The Incident At The Party. "Nah, Fog, it's all just black."

"You were telling a story," Foggy reminded, throwing a pillow at his friend.

That sobered Matt up, the smile retreating back into the corner of his mouth where it lived. "Right. Um, so there was Stick."

"Teaching you how to be a ninja."

"Handicapped people are pretty defenseless in New York," Matt pointed out. "But, okay, I see your point. It went a little past making sure I didn't get mugged. He prepared me for every scenario. What would happen if I was pushed in water? If someone attacked me while I had a broken hand? What if someone tried to mess with my head, could I be a good little solider?"

"That's sick," Foggy said, mouth twisting in disgust. "That's—you were just a kid! It sounds like he was recruiting you for some—some war!"

"Exactly," Matt said, his voice calm now. He had no indignation left. "That's exactly what he was recruiting me for. A war that he was waging in his own mind. What if I was captured? Tortured? Would I give up the organization? Would I give up _him?_ He had to prepare me for every eventuality."

Foggy still couldn't see what this had to do with his own prom story and having a boyfriend. "Yeah, okay. So?" Matt just stared at his comforter, picking at the surface with one nail. "Wait," Foggy said, the pieces sliding into place like a sick puzzle. He felt sick, felt like he was going to throw up all over Harry Potter. "How old were you?"

Matt shrugged, "Old enough to know it was wrong. But Stick was my only protection, the only one willing to take me. He was the closest thing I had to a father."

"So you just," Foggy left like he could huff and puff and take the whole place down. "You just _let him rape you_?"

Matt flinched.

Foggy looked down at himself. He'd gotten up, somehow, had drawn himself up to his full height and advanced on the bed. His hand was raised, somehow, ready to strike.

He sat back down.

Matt was babbling something, "I was…well, you know, Fog, I was a kid. Stick paid the bills and put food on the table and seemed to—it sounds so stupid now—seemed to give a shit about me. I knew it was wrong, but it seemed like a price to pay."

"A price to pay?" Foggy echoed. He was no longer shouting. He felt hollow, hollowed out, empty. "For what? Some bread and blanket? School? Matty…"

"Don't call me that," Matt said, "I'm not a child."

When Matt snapped that, flinched, all the fight left Foggy. He wanted to find Stick and set hi on fire. He wanted to sleep. Eventually, the second desire won out and Foggy laid down. "Goodnight, Matthew."

"Fog…"

But Foggy was already pretending to be asleep.

.***.

Matt was having a nightmare. Whimpering, writing, "No! Please, no!"

Foggy clutched the pillow to his head and willed himself to go back to sleep.

.***.

The next morning, Matt was out of the dorm before Foggy woke up. Not so unusual, since there was church on Sunday. He was back, a shape in the bed, asleep or pretending to be by the time Foggy got back that night. No Harry Potter, then.

.***.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Foggy and Matt had classes together and usually sat next to each other but now Matt sat in the back of the room and Foggy sat in the front.

They were both young men. Foggy was too proud to apologize and Matt was too proud to forgive.

.***.

On Saturday, Matt woke up to see that Foggy was already gone. Good. Maybe he'd forgotten about the hospital, and Matt would just go and get the results on his own and deal with them alone, like he always had. He dug around in his closet until he found a shirt that was labeled BLUE and a pair of jeans that he thought would go with it.

He was getting his cane, his wallet, when Foggy came in the door, holding coffee and donuts. "I'll drive you," Foggy said. It wasn't _I'm sorry_ but at that point, Matt didn't need an apology. "Come on, take a coffee. No, not that one, _that one_ , otherwise I get stuck with your stupid black coffee."

"'Course," Matt said, hiding his smile with the coffee cup as he took a big swallow. "Thanks, Foggy."

That's when Foggy put down the bag and the cup and enveloped Matt in a hug. "It's okay," he repeated, a clucking refrain. "It's okay."

And, no matter what the results of the test turned out to be, Matt thought that he might just be right.


End file.
